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"They could lose themselves in the simplicity of fruit."

Published onJul 19, 2023

Photo by Angel Plamenov:

The grove never wanted sons
but it bore them anyways. Three

of them—the youngest
hugged the tree, looked up

into the verdant prism,
asked the oldest what

the fruit was, but he didn’t
know. So they climbed

spindled branches, scraping
their arms, until they were

in the center of it. They each
plucked a sphere, palmed it,

turned it over in their hands,
waited for it to crack open.

They hoped it would reveal
itself, but it didn’t. The oldest

took a moment, watched the two
in their reverie. Something about

the smallness of them, the way
they could lose themselves

in the simplicity of fruit.
Briefly, he grieved for his own

boyhood—but quickly the youngest
bit down, its insides spewing out:

a sticky nectarous splatter.
The other two followed, giggled 

in the canopy, faces full
of sugar and soft flesh.  

 Anastasios Mihalopoulos is a Greek/Italian American from Boardman, Ohio. He holds a BS in both chemistry and English from Allegheny College and is currently an MFA candidate in the Northeast Ohio MFA consortium. He also serves as the poetry center assistant for Etruscan Press. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Foothill Poetry Journal, Jenny Magazine, West Trade Review, Helix Literary Journal, The Decadent Review, The Great Lakes Review, and elsewhere.

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